Chapter Text
Andy shakes the fiftieth (or sixtieth) hand and sneaks a glance at the huge clock hanging over the door. Hopefully they’ll be free of this latest grip ‘n’ grin by three, because if she doesn’t get a coffee soon there’s a real risk of falling asleep standing up.
“It’s so kind of you,” the sharp-looking woman says as Andy releases her hand. “To take the time to come and visit us, especially when you’ve been having such a tough year.”
Though she’s practiced the grateful widow face a million times already, Andy still has to think for a split-second before lowering her eyes and affecting the half-smile that people seem to expect in these moments. She’s just glad she got her hand back before the patting could begin--somehow that’s the most uncomfortable part of this whole unofficial ritual.
It doesn’t seem to matter that she’s been working a full schedule for six months already, or that she’s getting used to sleeping alone again (and guiltily preferring it, for the few hours she grabs each night). People have been waiting, it seems, to express their sympathy, and Andy is in no place to deny them.
“It’s so kind of you to have me here. You’re all doing such valuable work for the local community,” Andy replies, nudging them back on topic. These after-school clubs in the District are about to be piloted nationwide, and her office is aiming to be at the forefront of that. Who better to understand the plight of working parents?
“Madam Vice President?” The call comes from the throng, but she recognizes Todd’s voice in an instant. He’s been her constant companion for years now, informed and unflappable but Andy’s made it something of a mission to make him blush at least once a week. This nice boy from her Congressional office has made each step up the ladder at her side, and it’s gratifying to see the man he’s become.
“Please excuse me,” Andy says to the waiting group, trying not to appear grateful at the interruption.
“I’m sorry,” Todd says as he pulls her away from the assembled volunteers and children. “Madam President, I just spoke to Teddy at the White House.”
“What am I in trouble for now?”
“It’s not that...” Todd trails off, looking around the room in that slightly frantic way he has.
“Todd, you’re starting to worry me. Are the kids okay?”
And in that moment, something shifts.
Andy will say later that it felt significant--that the hum in the air changed key, that the air somehow tasted different--but right now it’s just that pit of the stomach lurch at a half-glanced expression on one of her Secret Service agents. These guys (no women on today’s shift, but Andy has insisted on it, generally) can react stone-faced to thrown objects, shrieking people charging them down, and noises mistaken for gunshots, but just as she turns Andy catches Casper pressing his fingers to his earpiece with an unmistakably shocked expression.
She grabs Todd by the sleeve before he can take his second step (the world feels like it should be in slow motion right now, but sheer adrenalin has her reacting fast enough).
“Wait,” she says, nodding towards the agents securing the room, as one by one they allow some kind of reaction to flicker. It’s like watching dominoes fall, Andy thinks, already trying to predict the next step. She’s braced and ready when the nearest agent--Chris--moves in to grab her.
“Madam Vice-President,” he says, and it takes the lightest touch to have them both in motion. “We need to move you to a secure location.”
The rest of the agents swarm around Chris, falling into formation like some kind of incredibly scary marching band. Although Andy’s moving her legs, she can’t really be sure her feet are touching the floor right now. In the blink of an eye she’s in the back of the limo, but no staff are shoved in after her. Instead Casper is sitting opposite her, listening intently to his earpiece.
Before she can question him, the heavy door slams shut and the telltale three thumps land on the roof. The engine guns, and she reaches for the phone in frustration. They don’t need more bad press: cutting events short for another Secret Service drill.
“Sorry, ma’am. No calls right now until we confirm that this line is still secure.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andy says ,with an eye roll. “I’ll tell your bosses that you were very strict, but I need to manage the press from running out like that. I need to speak to Todd--”
“No ma’am,” Casper says firmly, actually reaching out and snatching the handset away. “It’ll just be a few minutes before we confirm the lines are safe to use.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Andy huffs, reaching for her cellphone, but Casper reacts quicker than she does, snatching that away too.
“Again, I’m sorry, ma’am. It really shouldn’t take too long,” Casper blurts, showing his first signs of discomfort since the car started moving. It might be related to the death glare that Andy is very aware of firing in his direction right now.
“So,” she says, relenting after a long minute. “Which exercise are we running through today? Has North Korea nuked Portland? Or are terrorists swarming over Mount Rushmore?”
Casper hesitates before answering, muttering ‘confirmed’ into his sleeve and listening intently again.
“Ma’am,” he says, and in that moment Andy notices how young he actually is. He can’t be that much older than Huck and Molly, and here he is putting his life on the line daily just to ferry her around to the appointments foisted off onto the Veep’s office. Remarkable, really. Casper clears his throat, and rubs his forehead for just a moment.
“Ma’am,” he begins again. “We now have confirmation that Marine One has crashed, in a field just outside of Smithfield, Virginia.”
“Crashed? You mean like a crash landing? Like an emergency landing?” Andy feels herself trying to spin the words even as the reaction to them creeps up on her. She can’t let it hit her, not yet.
“Ma’am, as I understand it the helicopter was not able to land safely. The FBI have been called to the scene and my fellow agents from the decoy choppers are attempting to check the wreckage now. I’ve been instructed to deliver you safely to a secure bunker.”
“Wait, what?” Andy shakes her head, as though that will somehow stop the ringing in her ears.
“Ma’am, I think it would be better if you spoke to the National Security Adviser. Or perhaps--”
For a moment, Andy really thinks she’s going to be sick. It’s that vertigo, that sudden internal flailing for control that she remembers all too well from two months of morning sickness and a few too many hangovers. Just in time, she tamps the urge down, but she clamps her hand over her mouth for a minute just in case.
“Where are they taking the President?” She asks, hoping that details will give her something to cling to as the car whizzes down another street at breakneck speed. “I can’t think where the nearest hospital is to there, and I should know...”
Her cell phone rings then, and Andy grabs for it; Casper offers no resistance, either because they’re cleared or he just wants to stop talking to her. They’ve probably only exchanged about ten words in the past two years, and Andy finds herself eager to speak to someone with answers.
“Madam Vice President,” says a familiar voice.
“Teddy, thank God,” Andy says with a genuine sigh of relief. “I’m terrifying my agents here--how is the President?”
“Uh, well,” Teddy hesitates, sounding incredibly far away. “I’m in the Situation Room right now.”
“I assumed you would be; I know you weren’t on this trip,” Andy points out, trying to move it along. The car is slowing down a little now, but the heavily tinted windows make it hard to tell exactly where they are, other than not the White House (or the Observatory, for that matter). “Listen, don’t feel like you have to sugarcoat it for me. If he’s badly hurt and can’t invoke the 25th while they treat him, there’s always Section 4. If you get the Cabinet together--”
“Andy!” Teddy says, and that slip chills her right down to the marrow. “The Cabinet are assembling now. Everyone is local except for Bill--I mean the Secretary of State--he’s in Malaysia, but heading for the plane as we speak. The 25th is already in play.”
“You mean...” Andy trails off, even though her neurons are firing and making the connection, she doesn’t dare lend voice to thought, not like this.
“I mean, as soon as we can get the Chief Justice in the same room as you, your title is going to change.”
“But Sam...” Andy can’t conceive of saying the rest of the sentence, and so it hangs there in the silence between her and the President’s Chief of Staff.
“Ma’am, President Seaborn was pronounced dead on the scene by medics. We’ll confirm details about his remains and the investigation into the crash in due course. Right now, you have other things to deal with.”
The car rolls to a halt in what looks like the middle of an abandoned military base, and Andy feels a brief moment of panic as the Secret Service agent outside does whatever it is they do to get the heavy door swinging open. Outside though, the two SUVs that comprise her security detail are already parked and waiting, and so she ends the call without another word.
Stepping out into the blinding May sunshine, she finds two agents guiding her forward in an instant. Perhaps she should be worrying about a coup, but these faces are familiar and she’s allowed to do (most of) the walking herself this time.
Keypads and long corridors greet her as she keeps marching forward, unsure of who’s following or why. Eventually they descend stairs into what looks like a smaller-scale replica of the White House Situation Room. There are two Army Generals and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court already taking up three of the ten seats.
Justice Baker Lang is the first to stand, and Andy wonders if this is really the first time she’s seen her since the Inauguration; it just might be. The Generals follow suit, their salutes as crisp and polished as their uniforms, but the mildly shocked expressions mirroring everyone else’s.
“Well,” Andy says, summoning up her game face with more hope than conviction. “It looks like we walked right into the history books just by getting up this morning.”
“Are you ready, Madam Vice President?” The Chief Justice asks the question gently, careful not to jolt the fragile atmosphere too much. Staff are piling in through the door now, and there are more footsteps on the stairs behind her. Andy can see a camera or two being readied as she steps around the table to take her new place at the head of it.
“I believe that the phrase I’m looking for here,” Andy says, pausing for some last minute interruption that this has all been a cruel joke. “Is ‘as I’ll ever be’”.
There’s a nervous laugh or two in the crowd, but all eyes are firmly on Andy as Justice Baker Lang pulls a copy of the Constitution from her briefcase. There’ll be time for speeches and condolences and questions in a few minutes, and for a long time to come. But right now, Andy has one of her two official jobs to do, and she can’t let anything detract from that.
“In that case,” she says, smiling kindly. “Let’s make some history.”